Halfway Girl  Uncle Oscar Is at It Again Remix
by StoryDiva
Summary: Michael is called to Lucille's to handle an incident involving Buster, Oscar, and the cornballer.  Written for Remix Redux.


This was written for the 2007 Remix challenge, based on a story called "The Halfway Girl" by zarahemla. Much love to Steph for the beta. Feedback is always adored.

* * *

Michael Bluth was working at the family's banana stand (yes, the one made famous by the song), wondering for the millionth time why he didn't pack his son up and get out of town, when his phone rang.

"Michael, I need you."

And this was why Michael never did make it out of town.

"I'm not coming across town to help you pick out a dress for dinner," Michael stated calmly. His mother had been calling him all week with one insane request after another since her maid had finally gotten fed up and quit.

"This is serious, Michael. It's your brother."

"Which one?"

"Does it matter?"

It did, in fact, matter. Especially since the reason Michael was sitting in the banana stand and not finalizing a deal with some interested investors was because Gob was off doing god knows what (or who).

"I don't have time for this, Michael. I have a charity dinner tonight and your Uncle Oscar went and got Buster high on god knows what."

Michael was obviously hearing things wrong. His brother had an aversion to drugs. In fact, for years he and Gob had to pin Buster to the floor while their father poured the liquid medications down his brother's throat. It was his father's favorite way to unwind, aside from filming the boys' fights.

"Buster doesn't…"

"Buster needs you. You're his brother. And I need you to get rid of Oscar once and for all."

"I can't leave the banana stand empty. It's one of the few sources of income our family actually has."

"Fine. Don't come. But when your brother is nothing but a hole in the sidewalk because he decided to fly off the balcony…"

"I'll be there as soon as I can," Michael said with a sigh.

When Maeby arrived, Michael contemplated leaving his mother to handle Oscar and Buster, but decided against the idea. All it took was the image of Buster with his hook running amuck on the evening news to make him leave. He was halfway to his mother's apartment when he realized that he hadn't bothered to say anything to Maeby or George Michael about ditching school. He wondered if apathy was contagious and once again thoughts turned to grabbing his son and making a run for it.

* * *

The truth of the matter was that Buster Bluth was having a good time with his Uncle Father Oscar. Buster had awoken from a wonderful dream to find Oscar sitting next to his bed, watching him just like he sometimes did to his mother. He had told Buster that he had a great idea for passing the day while Lucille was at the spa. 

Buster had to admit that he had been doubtful, but Uncle Father Oscar had introduced him to magical plants that made him giggle and think of amazing ideas. Like pulling out the Cornballer and making some snacks all by himself.

Mother had always told him he wasn't allowed to touch it. She would shoo him out of the kitchen and all he would hear were his father's curses and cries of pain. He had always vowed to try it one day. And Uncle Father Oscar was more than willing to help him, laughing and offering up, "Munchies are definitely a good choice, son."

Buster managed to set the Cornballer up all by himself. He glanced at the directions – all in Spanish – and shrugged. Who needed directions? He was walking on the wild side.

He even did a pretty good job. Only one small grease fire, but Oscar got to the fire extinguisher before it became a huge problem. They had high-fived each other on a heroic rescue and went about rolling their cornballs for cooking.

"Good God. What have the two of you done?" Lucille said, entering the kitchen and dropping her shopping bags on the floor.

"Hi Mother! I'm hanging out with Oscar."

"Oh?" Lucille replied, glaring in Oscar's direction.

"We wanted to spend some quality time together."

Lucille folded her arms. "Are you high?"

"We both are, mother," Buster replied.

Lucille's glare moved between the two of them before fixing in on Oscar. She reached for the phone on the wall and said, "I'm calling Michael."

"Do you think he'd want a cornball?" Buster asked.

Lucille pointed at Oscar and said, "This is all your doing! And what have you done to my kitchen? My new wallpaper! Do you know how impossible it is to find people who actually do the work you hire them for?"

"You need to calm down," Oscar replied. When Lucille got off the phone, he added, "It's just a little mess."

"You nearly burned down my kitchen, an area that Buster is not supposed to be in. He knows the rules. He could hurt himself."

Oscar stepped closer to Buster. He said, "He's fine, aren't ya, buddy?"

Buster held up a small cornball and said, "This will be the Buster Cornball! Next I will make a mother one!"

Lucille rolled her eyes. "This is all your doing."

Oscar stared defiantly back at Lucille and placed his hand on Buster's shoulder and squeezed. What Oscar didn't know was that ever since the seal attack, Buster was a bit nervous whenever someone got too close. Usually bad things happened.

And this time was no different.

Buster jumped slightly, losing the small cornball he had made into the cornballer, along with his prosthetic hand.

"My hand!"

Buster dropped his good hand into the cornballer and screamed out in pain when he realized how hot it was. Fortunately, he managed to get a grip on his prosthetic hand. Unfortunately, due to its extreme hotness, he tossed it into the air and it hit Oscar in the face.

Oscar went careening through the door and fell to the ground, pulling at the hand. He finally managed to get it off him, but took out Lucille's favorite vase in the process.

She growled in his direction and hurried over to Buster. She said, "I'm beginning to think that the army sucked any intelligence right out of you."

"Oh my God. I think my face is still on fire," Oscar called out from the living room.

Lucille sighed. She grabbed some ice and placed it on Buster's hand. She said, "And what have I told you about spending time with your Uncle?"

"I'm a grown man, mother. I can do whatever I want," Buster replied. When she reopened the refrigerator and pulled out a juice box, he jumped up and down and said, "Oooh, is that for me?"

"The pain! I think I might have first degree burns and need a hospital," Oscar called out.

Buster took his juice box and hurried into the living room. He held up his juice box and said, "Look what mother gave me."

"What?"

Buster plopped down on the sofa and took one long sip, squeezing the box until there was nothing left. He smiled at Oscar, who was still curled up in a ball, and said, "And don't worry, Uncle Father Oscar, I forgive you."

"The pain is…" Oscar paused to look up at Buster and said, "What?"

"You threw my hand into that vase. It's going to be all messed up now." Buster rested back on the sofa and said, "All that fun has worn me out. It's a good thing there's time for a nap."

Within a few minutes, despite the fact that Oscar's cries of pain got louder, Buster dozed off.

* * *

When Michael arrived, he found his mother sitting on the couch, sipping bourbon and flipping through a magazine, while Buster napped next to her. He didn't see Oscar until he banged into him, nearly toppling to the ground. 

Oscar yelped, clutching at Michael's pant leg, and said, "Please, call a doctor."

"What happened to your face?"

Lucille put the magazine down and said, "It serves him right. They were high and pulled out the Cornballer."

Michael shook his head. He glanced down at his uncle and then asked his mother, "Did you even offer to help him? He looks like he's in pain."

"Of course he's in pain, Michael. He has severe burns."

"But you're not doing anything about it?"

"Nope."

"Right. Sure. Why am I here then?"

"Take a look at my kitchen. Look what that household weapon of destruction has done now. I need money, Michael. And if you could find me some workers, preferably ones that speak English this time…"

"You called me out here to give you money and hire a kitchen crew? You pulled me away from work, swearing it was an emergency and that Buster…" he paused to focus his attention on Buster's sleeping form before continuing, "…was in grave peril—"

"I did not use the words 'grave peril.' That sounds like something your idiot brother would say."

"The point is…"

"The point is that my kitchen is unlivable, Michael. And do you smell that? Grease fire. We're going to have to stay with you until it's fixed up."

"There isn't any…"

"I'll go pack an overnight bag for me and your brother," Lucille replied, standing up and making her way to her room. She stopped and turned around, motioning to Oscar, and said, "You'll need to do something with him."

Michael sighed. Whether he liked it or not (or not, often was the answer), this was his life. He was pretty sure that if he tried to make a run for it, they would just find him wherever he went when the next catastrophe happened.

And they were the Bluth family. There would be another calamity in a few days.

**The End**


End file.
